Creatures with No Eyes
by Sandy S
Summary: Where is Drusilla in Season 7? Just a little ficlet to explain why she's not in Sunnydale! Hope you enjoy! :o)


Title: Creatures with No Eyes

Author: Sandy S.

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: I own nothing.  All belongs to Joss and UPN.

Spoilers: through current season 7 

Summary: The First Evil is impersonating Dru.  Where is Drusilla?  Drusilla POV.  

A/N:  I have never written a Drusilla piece, so I thought I'd try on the character. Hmm. It oughta be interesting! :o)  

Creatures with No Eyes

"What should I wear, Miss Edith?"  

            Miss Edith stares at me, pondering my dilemma.  She doesn't quite know what to say, I guess.  She's pretty indecisive.  If she's not careful, she'll make me angry again.  She doesn't like me when I get angry.  

            I explain the situation to her, so she understands why I'm asking her about what to wear.  "There's a gathering, and someone's using my invitation.  So, I have to go see what it's all about.  It's very important that I look my best.  Something wicked is here.  More wicked than me.  More wicked than Daddy."

            I survey my closet full of long dresses.  Black like the night, white like the skin of one who hasn't seen the sun, and red like my favorite kind of blood.  All these dresses remind me of. . .

. . . Spike. . . my precious childe. . . a little boy crying in the night.  I feel the new, foreign *thing* inside him. . . it writhes and twists in my gut like a snake in a wicker box.  That frightens me, and I don't usually get frightened.  I frighten things.  

Sharp as a knife, memories flood my mind, making my head hurt and tightening my chest.

            As I bring my hand to my head to stop the voices that are erupting in my ears, a small moan fills the air, escaping from my throat like a captive animal that's sprung forth from a cage.  Rage rips through my muscles, and I start to slash the material.  Shrieks fly as I poke my fingers through the material and relish the feel of the cloth tearing.  Nothing crosses my visual path but blurs of ebony, ivory, and scarlet.

            Targets demolished, I glance down at the black lace that I'm wearing.  Without thought, I shred the fibers, dragging my long fingernails through the holes.  The smell of fresh blood hits my nose as if someone is feeding nearby.  Bones twist and shift, and teeth extend into their familiar places.  I am surprised by the bright red streaks in my flesh.  My stomach growls.

            I stop when suddenly my eyes focus on Miss Edith.  "Don't stare at me!"  

            Snatching the vagrant up, I fling her across the room, water flooding my cheeks.  Miss Edith hits one of my many nameless minions as he hovers in the doorway with a shocked look on his face as if he's just seen a ghost.  He probably had that very expression when he was turned.  

            Wiping tears away, I glower at him.  What kind of vampire. . . creature of evil is he?  Likely he is one without cunning. . . like a fox with no hair, hunting in a forest full of rabbits that are all around him.

            "W-what's w-wrong?" he stutters.  

He can't even speak properly, poor baby.  Who did I let turn him?  I'll have to get rid of that minion later. . . if I remember.  Sometimes I get distracted easily.  Spike used to help me remember.

            The present minion cradles Miss Edith.  How unfair!  She gets cuddling when I'm the one. . . . His face softens when he sees my tears, and he makes a move to take me in his arms.  As he does so, he callously tosses Miss Edith to the ground, so she lands on her face in the dirt!

            Rushing to her aid, I kneel to the ground, tattered shreds of cloth dragging the floor like dead branches falling off a willow tree that's gone too long without water or sunlight.  

Turning her over, I inspect her clothes.  A drop of blood falls at that moment, staining her dress crayon red.  Good thing she doesn't have any eyes to witness the soiling of her clothing!  I feel sorry for being angry with her.  I forgot she doesn't have eyes anymore.  She wasn't staring; she just couldn't see anything.

            Emotions still overwhelm me and my stomach clinches with urgency, so I whirl on my minion, clutching Miss Edith to my unbeating heart.  He begins trembling as I stalk toward him.  I wish he wouldn't.  Why can't he behave properly?  How annoying!  Still, fear is fear, and I lap up his terror like a cat drinking milk.

            I brush past him and settle Miss Edith in her proper place again, giving her a little pat on the head.  She really is a good child.  I can take care of her because she's blind.

The minion continues his insipid shaking, so I push him against the wall with one hand, my other hand clutching him in an area that's not nearly as comfortable.  If possible, his face pales even further.

            Training what Spike liked to call my bewitching eyes on the minion, I smile beguilingly at him.  "How old were you?"

            "T-two m-months," he squeaks like a mouse caught by a cat.  He has a reason to be afraid of me.  I've killed in front of his virgin eyes.  I like killing virgins.  I like killing eyes. . . less people to see through me.  "T-that's all."

            Carefully keeping my eyes on him, I clench tighter, eliciting a small yelp.  "How old before."

            His response comes out in a hoarse puff of air with no sound.  I hardly hear him over the voices that are telling me to hurry.  "Nineteen."  

            "Good."  I release him, and he sinks to the ground, massaging his throat and hunching over his mid-section.  "We're going shopping."

            The minion coughs, a trait leftover from his human days.  "B-but how can we go to the mall?  There's no money."

            I sniff at him.  "Not that kind of shopping."

            "W-what do you mean?"

            I narrow my eyes at him.  Clearly, this incompetent fool has a lot to learn.  "The voices are telling me what I need waits in the night, so hurry up and get out!  Leave the ladies to their preparations."

            With that, I shift my face back into its human guise and shove the minion out the door, so Miss Edith and I can have some privacy.

* * *

            "Here we are.  Apples and apples, ripe for the picking!"  I clap my hands gleefully.  

            The crowds of young people in the downtown club district surround me, making me dizzy with the heady smell of delicious nutrients.  I want them all, but I know better.  No making a fuss in public. . . not right now.  My minion follows behind me as I pass by each human, studying them with wide eyes.  Like innocent pigeons, they take no notice of me, one who can snap their neck in an instant.  I like this dance.

            "What are we looking for?" the minion asks.  He's lost his hesitation although he looks a bit unhappy carrying Miss Edith.  Perhaps he has potential.

            Straightening Miss Edith's dress, I whisper in case the voices are listening, "I need adornment."

            "Adornment?" he questions, a little too loudly

            "Shush!  For my trip.  All the others were wrong.  So, I need new adornment," I explain, careful to spell out what I need with exactitude.  

            "Ohhhh."  His eyes light with realization.  "You need new clothes."

            "Yessss," I hiss.  "I need to look proper to. . ."

            "To go back to Sunnydale?"

            "There's delicious evil there.  My Spike is in trouble.  I have to know what's happening."  Spying a young woman with long, dark hair wearing a calf-length flowery dress, I turn from him, giving him an almost imperceptible nod.  "See.  Here's one."

            The minion murmurs, "Not tall enough.  She's too heavy."

            Eyes lingering on the woman's outfit, I pout.  "But it's pretty."  

            "You need something more modern," my minion insists, stealing a beer off one of the abandoned outdoor tables.  "Something in leather.  Conveys power."  He pauses and then nods in a different direction.  "Something like what she's wearing."  

            Smelling my minion's rising desire, I decide to trust him.  Scanning the crowd to find the target, my gaze lands on the tall, young blonde.  Her short hair is chopped in an uneven bob, and her fair skin glows in the lights of the streets like a lantern.  Her blood sings beneath her epidermis, a song I've only heard a few times in my unlife.  My veins are pierced with a mixture of fury, hurt, and jealousy.  Spike passes briefly through my thoughts.  

            "Very good," I growl.  The minion's choice impresses me.  

            Cockily, he takes a swig of beer, shifting Miss Edith gently.  "Thank you.  I know what kind of eye candy I like."

            Flowing as a river through a forest, I weave through the humans in my way, stalking her at a safe distance so that she does not know I'm near just yet.  "She has a pretty song.  So strong.  So pure."  

            "She's gorgeous.  She's wearing leather."            

            The girl slips into a club, pausing only to pay the entrance fee.  The throbbing manmade music calls to me.  Music helps stifle the voices, especially when the notes are loud and lend life to my muscles. . . like fresh blood pouring forth from my victims.  

            My minion and I pass the burly bouncer.  He protests with a short utterance, but I wave my hand, and the minion takes my signal as permission.  Pulling the bouncer with inhuman swiftness into the shadows, he snaps the bouncer's neck with a soft roar.  The sound of greedy drinking sends shivers of excitement over my skin, and I'm energized to hunt for my prey.  

            Allowing the thrumming music to guide me, I inhale the trail the girl has laid down like a brilliant, shimmering rainbow and easily spot her at the bar, ordering a drink.  She's smiling and laughing at something the bartender is conveying to her, and her joy makes me want her more.  

            As the bartender mixes her beverage, she excuses herself.  I examine her movements closely and follow her to the restroom in the back of the club.  I sense no one else in the bright room, so I enter, silently pushing the door flush against the wall.  

            Standing in front of the long mirror at one end of the bathroom, she ignores me and applies her lipstick.  Because I have no reflection, she can't view me in the glass.  Goosebumps ripple across her arms as I breeze by her form, letting her rare song roll delightfully over me.  

The girl spins to face me then, and I seize the moment to smash her against the mirror so that shards sprinkle to the floor, unheard over the pounding music of the club.  Astonishment dominates her features, and her green eyes widen, reminding me of the slayer Spike is lost to.  The girl is not yet like the slayer. . . but almost.

Before I form a coherent plan, my hand rises of its own accord, and my nails slash her throat in a precise, neat line.  After over a century, I know exactly how to slit a neck so that my victim remains alive longer, and I giggle as she chokes on the sweet nectar that wells in her trachea.  

With a strength I am not surprised by, she brings a long leg up and kicks me back so that I stumble slightly.  My giggle turns to laughter that spills past my lips in a fresh, rising and falling wave.  Blood gushing between her fingers, she clutches her throat and leans heavily against the wall, not moving and never removing her eyes from me.  

I meander slowly forward and lean to her hand, laving my tongue over her flesh to sip the sweet honey that's dribbling down and down and down.  I wish Spike were here so I could share this wonderful triumph with him, but he is with his nasty love.  The thought of them together drives my temper, and I suck harder on the succulent juices, feeling the body's life rapidly dying away.  

Once she is gone, I sigh.  So soon.  I wish she had lasted longer.  

I lick my lips and turn to her leather pants.  Worrying not about breaking bones or twisting ligaments, I pull the pants off my victim.  I've never donned leggings, but my minion was correct; they fit perfectly.  I run my fingers over the smooth fabric, a sound of satisfaction escaping me.  The shirt fits less well but smells wonderfully of blood.  

Before I can leave the bathroom, the door bangs open, quite opposite of the fashion in which I handled my entrance.  Dread echoes through me as three creatures cloaked in hooded robes enter.  A flash of metal indicates the presence of long knives.  Their auras reek of death and ancient evil, and I can hardly bear to look at them because they might bore into my mind and never come out.  

Backing away from their movements, they rush to the girl lying on the ground.  I brace myself against the cool tiles on the wall like an animal that's been cornered.  The creatures take no notice of me until they determine that their subject is dead.  Then, they simultaneously turn to me, knives raised.  

One of their hoods falls back, and I stare at the crosses covering their eyes.  I shiver as they scrutinize me, and I feel their psyches probing mine.  Reminded of the games my Daddy played on me, I find myself paralyzed by their attention.  When I'm sure that my mind will be completely raped, the one readjusts his hood, and they depart the room in seconds.

Minutes pass as I regain my composure.  As my sense of self returns, I realize that the creatures with no eyes are related to the evil in Sunnydale.  I quickly decide not to attend to Spike's aid, not to investigate the evil further.  

Exiting the restroom to engulf myself in the heavy beat of music, I determine to search out my errant minion and punish him for his inexcusable absence from the horror that happened to me.  But first, I have to tuck Miss Edith in bed and read her bedtime story.

The end.

Omgosh!  Insanity is difficult to write!  Phew.  Took me forever to write this! LOL! :o)  I really tried to convey a sense of insanity but also an intelligence and the predatory nature that is distinctly Drusilla.  


End file.
